The Blue Kayak

The Blue Kayak

I come out of a deep tunnel into
calm water. Leaves plate its
brown surface. I'm wearing my
flowered, two-piece bathing suit,
paddling alone between high,
blue firs. I am alone, don't know
how I got here. Forests fall away.
The lake is flat, sky apricot and
enormous. I don't know south
from west. Where are you?
I daren't call out, even as I
see the vastness of the lake.
No land in sight. A sign, partly
submerged, states NO CAMPING.
NO FIRES. I have no tent,
no kindling, perhaps some matches,
a canteen of well water. I heave
the boat forward. Near
exhaustion, I see a familiar
green point, the bright tent, the fireplace,
my sneakers hung on a line. But
where are you? The tent is
deserted. No one camps nearby.
Then a loon calls, a cool arpeggio.
I know now where I am. Not in
the Canadian Shield, but in myself.
Nowhere for me to go. Nowhere
for me to be. The lake is a cool blue.
I sit, back to a paper birch
and watch the light fade.